


Odessa

by SophieRomanoff97



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome Natasha Romanov, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, F/M, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Hospitals, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Injury, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Odessa - Freeform, Past Abuse, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Pre-Avengers (2012), Red Room (Marvel), Serious Injuries, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, it's the red rooms so yeah lots of bad stuffs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2019-10-31 03:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17841662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieRomanoff97/pseuds/SophieRomanoff97
Summary: 'A black mask covers the man’s nose and mouth and it takes a couple of seconds, too long, for Natasha to realize who she's looking at.'Odessa, 2009. Natasha's story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WridersRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WridersRose/gifts).



> Hey everyone! Another idea I've been holding onto a while but finally got around to writing. This is my take on what happened in Odessa. Also, I'm trying out a completely different tense than I usually use so I hoe it pays off and you guys enjoy.
> 
> TW's; blood, gore, death, graphic injury details, medical procedures, descriptions of past Red Room stuff (sexual, physical, mental abuse etc)
> 
> myshka: little mouse in Russian
> 
> A big thank you to my best friend and beta reader Wrider for helping me get this thing up. Also, I stole the nickname from her because it's too cute, so thanks for that too!

Natasha isn't quite sure how everything goes so quickly to utter shit.

 

Well, that's a lie. Because no, there were no indications that this particular mission was going to go so absolutely fucking wrong, but nothing in Natasha's life had ever gone smoothly so really, she shouldn't have been surprised.

 

Careening off the side of a cliff, whilst mildly terrifying, does not even rank in her top five of mission moments gone awry.

 

She knows that the tires had been shot out, and knows too that once she surfaces from the cold water the rental car is being thrust into (and god, she's definitely not getting that safety deposit back), her life will be in danger.

 

But really, when is it not?

 

She is in motion as soon as the black blur in the road points something at the vehicle, ready as the tin can her and the engineer are rattling around in starts to roll towards the cliffs edge.

 

As the ocean below beckons, she is already kicking the side door open, grabbing the man beside her, and jumping straight into the swirl of blue.

 

They narrowly avoid smacking into the rocks lining the coast, though the car is not as lucky and even underwater, she can hear the sounds of twisting metal and what could have been their coffin sinking into the depths.

 

All during this, Natasha hasn't panicked once. She wraps her fingers around the shirt of the engineer, kicks her legs and swims up to the surface.

 

The man at her side is another story all together; all panicked breaths and flailing limbs, shuddering with something more than the freezing temperatures they find themselves in.

 

Natasha tells him to shut up and be quiet, otherwise whoever forced them over the cliff will come looking. She knows already that the figure in black will already be searching for them, but she decides to keep that quiet for the time being, since further panicking would only make their chances of drowning so much higher and Natasha really isn't in the mood for the whole water up her nose, burning her throat kinda deal.

 

So she swims and pretty much drags the man over to where the cliff dips and a rocky bank lays in wait for them.

 

She hoists herself out of the water, sopping wet, fucking freezing, and more than a little pissed off that her and the engineer will have to walk the rest of the way to the safe house.

 

She drags him out of the water and onto the rocks, standing so she can lift him to his feet. They have to move.

 

But he either can't or doesn't want to get up and so she's pulling him from under the armpits, speaking softly, trying to coax him into standing, even as her patience wanes.

 

She feels more than hears the presence, green eyes flitting up from her failed attempt to get her charge to stand.

 

Already reaching for her gun, she scans the person standing up from them, looking down from the cliffs edge.

 

A black mask covers the man’s nose and mouth and it takes a couple of seconds, _too long_ , for Natasha to realize who she's looking at.

 

When she does, her entire body freezes, panic clawing at her veins so suddenly that she can't even breathe with it.

 

Ploughing off the cliff had been an annoyance, just another thing she would have to deal with.

 

This is like terror that she hasn't felt for years.

 

This is the absolute nightmare of a little girl with red ringlets and tear filled eyes. This is the agony of broken bones and bleeding cuts and poison in the veins of a pre-teen with a clenched jaw and cold eyes. This is the torture of a barely teenaged girl, of heartbreak as the only person she held close got ripped away, time and time and time again.

 

This is _James_ , with his soft words of encouragement when they were alone, his eyes kind even when he spoke poison to the others in the room. This is James, with his nicknames (good, myshka, again), with lips pulling up into a tiny smile. This is James, with a single candy in hand, brought to her after months away, when he didn't even remember, just habit, just something he knew he always did. This is James with blank eyes, the lines of his face hard, muscles still twitching from the wipe. This is James, her first friend, her only friend for so long.

 

Except it's not James. This is the soldier, the unflinchable, the stunningly ruthless, the unfeeling machine of a man.

 

She hasn't seen that man in her life, not once. He was always cold to begin with, sometimes cruel with sharp words, heavy handed with moves, not afraid to hurt. But that was after the wipe, when he didn't know who he was, how he was. When he followed orders, his brain clean of any past feelings, relationships, thoughts. He was new and confused and so broken. But then he would warm; his eyes would express his thoughts even when his words couldn't.

 

This man is...something from her nightmares. Someone she'd only heard tales of. This is soldier James. This is robot James, with the hard lines, blank expressions, thoughts not his own filling his head.

 

She watches as he lifts his gun, points it at them, and fires.

 

Natasha is behind the engineer, the man on his knees in front of her. From their position, his head reaches her torso.

 

Before she has time to move, the bullet flies towards them. It explodes through the man’s skull like butter; blood and brains and bone flying up.

 

It finds purchase in Natasha's stomach.

 

The dead man slumps forward and Natasha almost follows.

 

Her broken gaze lifts to find the man on the horizon, but he's already gone.

 

The pain sets in, not biting or scratching, but kicking and screaming to be noticed.

 

It's agony.

 

Clamping a hand over the wound sends pain so sharp that all she can do is scream as her vision explodes into nothingness.

 

The wound is not just a hole, it's jagged and wide and Natasha dimly realizes that she can _feel_ her insides.

 

Falling on her knees, Natasha knows that this does not look good.

 

Her guts are ruined and her hand is the only thing keeping them inside her body.

 

Her breathing is ragged and fast and already, she feels so dizzy with blood loss and pain and shock that the world has closed into a pinprick.

 

Blood and...something else slides through her fingers and collects on the rocks below her.

 

She is dying, that is certain.

 

She's miles away from help, miles from the safe house, inches away from death.

 

Her first ever friend has just shot to kill.

 

Through the torturous waves of pain, Natasha attempts to crawl forward. She hopes, prays, pleads up to the Heavens that her phone works.

 

She’s not ready to die.

 

She somehow pulls the object from her pocket.

 

The world has closed in and in between the waves of pain, comes white noise.

 

Head fuzzy, limbs failing, her lifes blood freely spilling through her fingers.

 

She calls the number of the only person she wants to hear before she dies.

 

Natasha is supposed to keep radio silence unless something goes horribly wrong. She thinks this qualifies.

 

He answers immediately, as if he knows, as if he has been waiting for this call.

 

“Where are you?” Are the first words out of Clint’s mouth, then he changes his mind, “never mind, I’ll track your phone. Are you okay?”

 

She kind of wants to laugh, kind of wants to cry.

 

Her breaths catch in her chest as she swallows the taste of blood and bile climbing up her throat.

 

“Clint-“ The word is reverent on her tongue as she tries to say goodbye. Her tone is wet and rasping and pained.

 

“I’m coming. I’m coming, Nat, just hold on.” She can hear crashing and footsteps and yells for Phil in the background. Then a soft word that Natasha so badly wants to live for.

 

“Please.”

 

Natasha isn’t sure when she fell on the floor, but she’s there now.

 

She’s shuddering desperately, hot liquid creating a pool around her failing body.

 

The pain is fading and that terrifies her because that means death is coming sooner than expected.

 

She’s achingly tired and she wants to close her eyes because the world is spinning on its axis and she wants it to stop.

 

She is startled by the sudden realization, lighting in her mind, that if she closes her eyes, she will die.

 

She doesn’t want to die.

 

She’s scared. She’s so scared.

 

It takes every single ounce of energy for Natasha to utter a couple of words to her partner, too far away.

 

“Talk to me,” She whispers, words soft and bitter and bloody.

 

Clint’s story fades in and out of her mind, she misses half of it, jerks to find she’s missed some, that her eyelids had fluttered shut.

 

It’s comforting. His words wrap around her, like a blanket keeping her safe and warm and protected.

 

She hopes he makes it in time, but she knows it’s more than unlikely. He isn’t too far away but she can’t help but think that he will only make it in time to say goodbye.

 

She holds on just for that, just so she can say goodbye to the man who dragged her from the flames, gave her a job and a home and actual, real friends.

 

She holds on so she can see his tanned face, feel his calloused fingers ease her into the dark, hear his rough Iowa accent one last time.

 

She holds on so she can tell Clint how she loves him, how thankful she is for everything he has done.

 

She holds on…

 

She tries to hold on, but the dark beckons and she can’t hold on anymore.

 

_I’m sorry._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I know it's been a long time but I'm back now! TW's for medical stuff, blood, CPR, the usual people expect from me whoops

When Clint gets that call, his veins fill with ice. He struggles to choke the words out.

"Where are you?" He grits out, his stomach heavy and his chest tight. "Never mind. I'll track your phone. Are you okay?"

He already knows she isn't. Radio silence. That's what they agreed. If she was even lightly injured, she wouldn't have called. That's just how she is. So Clint knows this is bad. This is very very bad and even as he scrambles his way to the computer to load up the tracker, he worries it's too late.

He hears her rasping breath through the speaker and he knows. He just knows. Everything is thoroughly fucked.

"Clint-"

His name terrifies him. He knows she's struggling to speak, can hear the tremor in her tone and the pain behind the word. She speaks his name like a prayer and by God, is he going to answer.

The breath following the word is gurgled and wet and he knows her mouth, her throat, is laden with blood. Her blood.

She's dying.

The realization sits heavy in his chest and threatens to swallow him whole.

"I'm coming. I'm coming, Nat, just hold on. Please." He pleads. Please don't die.

He's already directing Phil to start the car, thrusting the GPS at the man as he gathers equipment. 

There's a brief lull. Where the only sounds are Natasha's agonized breathing and him and Coulson rushing to the car. Phil is ahead of him, contacting the nearest Shield hospital and instructing them on what to do and prepare.

Clint is exponentially grateful to him in that moment.

Phil starts the car and he can hear how strained Natasha's breaths are. 

"Talk to me.'' She whispers and who is Clint to deny her.

He talks to her. 

He recounts old stories, keeping his tone light and full of the humour he isn't sure he can hold onto.

All the while, Natasha is silent. She hums occasionally to things he says but he knows they're quickly running out of time.

Towards the end of the drive, Natasha stops even the humming.

He doesn't know if she's even awake, thinks she probably isn't, but he doesn't stop talking. The stories turn into desperate pleadings and begs for her to say something, for her to hold on, for her to just wait for him.

Silence greets him but he knows she's still alive. He can hear her rapid, shallow, wet breaths and he knows she's holding on.

Barely.

As the car screeches to a stop atop the cliff, he's already out of the car and running.

He finds his partner slumped over on the rocks below, her hands wrapped around her middle and the biggest puddle of blood surrounding her that he's ever seen on someone alive.

The hospital isn't far and Phil is a good driver but as he drops down onto the rocks, he feels sick with the realization that it all might not be enough.

He crashes to his knees beside Natasha and in real life, the rasping of her breaths is imminently more terrifying.

But she's breathing.

There's no time to lose so Clint scoops her up into his arms, already slick with her blood, and he rushes to the car.

Before he's even closed the door behind him, Phil is driving like a maniac.

Clint breaks open the med bag as he scans Natasha. He'd seen the body beside her on the rocks and it wasn't hard to understand what had happened.

He grabs gauze and pressed it against her abdomen, the gnarly wound making even him feel sick. It's jagged and open and he can see parts of her he should never be able to see.

She doesn't react as he presses down as hard as he can, she does absolutely nothing.

Her skin is almost white she's lost so much blood and as he automatically measures her pulse, it's skipping and weak under his fingers.

Things are going to get very bad, he can feel it.

He urges Coulson to go even faster because no matter what he tries, he can't get her to wake up.

Her blood is coating his hands, making them wet and sticky and that gauze is barely doing anything, there's so much of it.

And there's nothing he can do.

Not really. He's not a surgeon, he can't knit her back together or give her the blood she needs or...

Wait. He can do that.

He rifles quickly through the med kit, finding the needles and tubes he needs. Sure, he's never done a transfusion by himself but he's had them done and seen them done. 

He quickly gets everything set up and soon there is a tube tying then together as he drips his blood into his best friend who so desperately needs it. He's never been so thankful he's a universal doner and he thinks he never will be.

But still it's just a mere band aid. The damage to Natasha's insides is something he can't see or fix. He doesn't know how bad it is. If the blood will fix anything or if she will die anyway.

Despite the blood, her pulse keeps getting weaker and she's gasping for breath so much her body shakes with it. Her lips are blue and Clint is struck by how he suddenly hates the colour.

He wants to rip the spine out of whoever hurt her. He knows he will if she doesn't live. He will never stop hunting the person responsible.

Then everything gets even worse.

Coulson careens over a speed bump and the GPS tells them they're minutes away but it's not fast enough.

Because Natasha gives one last gasping breath, one Clint has heard too many times, and she stills.

Her chest falls and doesn't rise and Clint doesn't need to press his fingers to her neck to know her heart has stopped. He does anyway, praying to be wrong, praying he can just breathe for her. Maybe there's blood in her lungs or she's just too tired to breathe.

But there's nothing under his fingers and the last bit of hope in him shatters in that very moment.

He moves on autopilot. 

He lays her flat across the back seats of the car and making sure he doesn't pull the needle out of either of them, he pushes his weight into her chest.

Her ribs cave under his hands and blood spurts out from the wound but he doesn't have enough hands to try and stem the bleeding too and the fact that her heart isn't beating is more important.

He's vaguely aware of Coulson talking to him but his brain filters it out as mere static as he continues to compress her chest, willing her heart to beat under his ministrations.

He stops only to lean over her, clamp her nose shut and breathe air into her lungs.

And then he's back at it, giving it everything he has and he's finally aware of what Phil is saying.

The defibrillator.

Numbly, Clint pulls it from the med bag and sets it charge, all with one hand, the other still bowing down on her chest.

When it indicates it's ready, he presses the flat pads to her chest, wincing as he strips away already ruined material.

He clambers into the foot space so he isn't touching her and presses the button.

Her body twitches and he waits for the monitor to tell him what to do. It tells him to go again and so he does, sure his heart has stopped right along with his partner's.

The machine speaks again.

Her heart is beating, weakly and off kilter but beating. But he can tell by the way her chest is still that she still isn't breathing.

So he climbs up onto the seats, presses his lips to hers and breathes, all the while the monitor tells him her heart is struggling and struggling.

Her breathes for her until they pull up to the hospital.

Phil is smart and the team is already waiting for them at the doors.

He doesn't stop breathing for her until they cross the threshold and someone is holding him back and shoving a tube down her throat.

He realises dimly that Phil is the one holding him and without warning, his knees go crashing into the floor and he can't hear over the sound of his ragged breaths.

They've already taken Natasha away so he stares at the drips of blood on the floor, not even noticing that it's his own. That he still has a needle in his arm and a tube dripping all over the place.

He can't move. Frozen with fear in a way he hasn't been for a long time.

Phil holds him to his body as he tries to breathe.

Now they just have to wait.


End file.
